It’s a familiar sight: Bobby, sitting alone in the kitchen, hunched over a tub of ice cream, a spoon in his mouth.
Logan holds the can of beer in his hand and leans against the door frame, watching Bobby, who’s oblivious to his presence at the doorway. A boy dressed in a black tee shirt and white boxer shorts, putting a metal spoon into his mouth and licking it clean of ice cream, really shouldn’t look this erotic. But Logan’s feeling horny, so.
"I guess sleep’s overrated, anyway," Logan mutters as he walks into the kitchen, subtly closing the door behind him.
Bobby sits up straight, startled, spoon still in his mouth; but he relaxes when he recognizes Logan.
"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I didn’t hear you coming."
Now, that’s impossible, Logan wants to say. I don’t leave it up to speculation when I come.
"What, did you think I was Cyclops?" Logan replies, and smirks. Ha! Take that, Scott. He can just imagine Jean looking puzzled and asking, ‘Scott, honey, was that it or should I keep going?’
Bobby grins, and Logan wonders if he gets the joke. Spoon leaves Bobby’s mouth, dives into the tub and then goes back in again. Logan’s crotch tightens in appreciation. Oh, fuck Bobby for that pretty mouth of his. Wait, does he really want to go there?
Logan decides that he really shouldn’t be walking around the mansion in the middle of the night in this state of arousal. Someone may get hurt. He briefly contemplates the effort involved in turning around, walking out of the kitchen and back to his room, then decides it’s so much easier just to sit down on the stool next to Bobby.
"Can’t sleep, too?" Bobby asks.
Logan puts his can of beer on the table, and rolls his eyes. No, Bobby, I set the alarm for two-thirty in the morning just to come down here and watch you fuck your own mouth with a spoon.
Did he mention he’s horny?
"Just looking for some ice, actually." Too late, Logan realizes how that sounds. Way to go for a new come-on. He just kills himself sometimes.
The metal spoon pauses in mid-air, and Bobby’s lips part in surprise as he looks at Logan. Damn. Boys this age should not be able to read between the lines like this. Then again, boys this age should not have mouths that look best wrapped around his cock, so fuck the rules.
"Uh, sure," Bobby replies, and there’s a certain tone in his voice that matches the questioning look in his eyes. He reaches out for the beer can and wraps his hand around it; when he gives it back to Logan, it is cold to the touch.
"Thanks," Logan says, then opens the can and takes a drink of chilled beer. Beer is supposed to calm nerves, isn’t it? Right. Focus on the beer. Beer’s good, concentrate on the beer in your hands and how it tastes in your mouth, instead of thinking about how that pretty piece of jailbait sitting next to you might fare in a similar situation.
But Bobby doesn’t stop what he’s doing with that phallic symbol of a spoon, which totally works contrary to the good intentions of the beer. For fuck’s sakes, the boy should be made to drink ice cream out of a straw. But wait, that involves sucking and, okay, Logan really doesn’t want to go there.
Logan clears his throat, and nods towards the tub of ice cream in Bobby’s hands. "So, do you really like that stuff?"
Bobby shrugs. "It’s all right, I guess," he says, gesturing towards the ice cream with his spoon. That. Fucking. Spoon. Again. "Do you want to try some? It’s vanilla."
Try some? An annoying, rational voice in Logan’s mind howls. Right. This is exactly why he’s called jailbait, okay?
Bobby scoops up a spoonful, and holds it out to him. Logan realizes that he’s never going to be able to look at a spoon the same way again. Great. Thank you, Bobby, for a lifetime of potential hard-ons under the dining table. He looks at the ice cream critically, then at Bobby, who gives him a tentative smile.
So Logan tells the voice in his head to shut the fuck up, and then he leans forward and closes his mouth around Bobby’s spoon. The ice cream tastes bittersweet in the aftertaste of beer, and Logan makes a face.
"Well, it tastes better creamier," Bobby says wryly, watching Logan’s reaction. "But I eat it so often I just gotta switch to low fat." He pauses, and adds, "It’s like therapy."
Logan licks the lingering traces of cream off his lips. "Any reason why you can’t sleep?"
"Actually, it’s not that I can’t sleep. It’s just..." Bobby sounds slightly embarrassed. "I get these... uh, dreams, sometimes, and the temperature in the room drops like a rock. Ice starts forming inside the windows and everything. It’s scary. And I share a room with John, and he’s freezing half to death so..." he trails off.
"So you come down here and eat ice cream?" Logan interrupts bluntly. "Think that’ll get you less horny?"
Bobby turns an attractive shade of red.
"I don’t know," he says in a small voice, and bites on his lower lip.
"Well, I’ll tell you," Logan says flatly, "it won’t work. Not ice cream, for sure." Oh, yeah. There’s definitely nothing like the real thing. He tosses back another sip of beer.
Bobby’s watching him with wide eyes. "Hey, can I try some of that?"
Logan looks at Bobby with a raised eyebrow. "Are you even legal?"
"Well," Bobby hesitates, and the color stays on his cheeks. "Almost."
"How old are you?"
A pause. "Seventeen."
"Already?" Logan tilts his head and eyes Bobby appraisingly. "Or turning seventeen this year?"
"Um." Bobby looks away, and discovers the truths of the universe etched at the bottom of the ice cream tub. "This year."
"And you’re asking me to let you drink beer?"
"Well," Bobby coyly glances up at Logan, "I just want to have a little bit."
"And how, exactly," Logan says, holding Bobby’s gaze, "are you going to have just a little bit?"
That’s evidently an easy question, because Bobby doesn’t even need to answer.
He just leans closer, and presses his mouth to Logan’s.
Oh, fuck. So that’s how he meant.
Bobby’s lips are soft and faintly sweet against his own, and vanilla ice cream definitely tastes better licked from Bobby’s mouth. Bobby’s hands are on his face, and they’re cold like the caress of winter breeze. For a moment Logan remains still, and doesn’t respond. He can feel Bobby’s uncertainty, his need for reassurance; and when Bobby receives none, Logan feels him begin to break away from the kiss.
Fuck, indeed.
But Bobby never actually succeeds, because Logan suddenly grabs him and roughly pulls him forward. Their lips crash together again, and this time they’re kissing fiercely, desperately. Bobby loses his balance and falls against Logan, which suits Logan fine because now he can maneuver the boy any way he likes.
Logan threads his fingers through Bobby’s short hair, holding him securely as his tongue pries its way into Bobby’s mouth. Bobby’s lips part eagerly to him, his tongue licking and nipping back, and for a kid his age he can kiss pretty well. But Logan’s better, of course, because he can do other things besides, such as sliding his other hand down to feel the bulge in Bobby’s boxers. Bobby gasps against his mouth, and Logan smiles in satisfaction.
Bobby’s half-straddling him now, both arms wrapped around Logan’s neck as he leans forward, kissing Logan feverishly, sucking teasingly on his lower lip with all that perfected technique learned from the noble spoon. What was in that ice cream? Vanilla with aphrodisiac toppings?
"This what you want?" Logan breathes, then pushes Bobby’s thighs apart so the boy can wrap both legs around him, completely straddling his waist.
"Yes," Bobby twists against him, and then, "oh Logan," in that breathless voice that makes Logan’s cock grow hard. Fuck, this boy knows how to communicate what he wants. He also feels Bobby’s erection through his boxers, pressing against his stomach.
Logan slides his hands under Bobby’s ass and begins to move him up and down in rhythmic strokes, with steady friction against his own body. Bobby moans loudly and throws his head back, bucking forward, straining to rub his cock harder and faster against him — but abruptly Logan stops, and holds Bobby away from him.
"Oh god, please," Bobby’s voice is ragged, desperate, and the way he’s begging so early in the game makes Logan want it to last forever. And Bobby still has all his clothes on. "Please, just let me..."
Logan smiles serenely at him, although he is fully hard himself. "Not yet."
"Fuck!" Bobby rages in frustration, and Logan is pleased to see his corrupting influence at work so soon. "Logan, you can’t do this..."
"Oh yes," Logan answers swiftly, and moves even quicker; he nudges Bobby to his feet, and pushes him back against the edge of the kitchen table. "I can do this, Bobby Drake."
With one hand Logan yanks down Bobby’s boxers. For his part, Bobby tries to help kick them off, but they get caught around his ankles and he’s unsteady on his feet. Logan roughly pulls them free, and then his hands are under Bobby’s ass, lifting him up so he’s now sitting on the table.
Then without warning, Logan raises his right fist and slowly extends a single claw.
He sees the shock flit across Bobby’s face as the boy gazes warily at the claw that slides smoothly from Logan’s knuckle until it reaches its full length. Bobby’s eyes dart uncertainly to his, and Logan imagines the smile he gives Bobby is one of steel.
Without a word he wedges his body between Bobby’s spread thighs and leans in, holding the claw in front of him; Bobby flinches and recoils, but Logan’s reflexes are quicker. His other hand shoots out and grabs Bobby’s shoulder, holding him still. Now Bobby seems paralyzed with fear, and he blanches as he stares at the approaching claw. His mouth moves, but no words emerge.
In a lightning-fast stroke Logan sends his clawed hand down in a graceful arc — Bobby lets out a cry that is choked away as Logan’s hand clamps over his mouth. There is the swift sound of fabric ripping, and Bobby squeezes his eyes shut — when he finally dares to open them, he looks down in amazement.
The front of Bobby’s tee shirt has been perfectly ripped right down the middle. A red scratch on his bare chest and torso marks the path of the sharp claw, but at no point in the trail is the skin broken through.
"You see," Logan says in a low, husky voice, his mouth against Bobby’s ear, "I can do anything I want."
Then Logan tilts Bobby’s face towards him and captures his mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, marking his territory. His claw slides harmlessly back under the skin of his knuckle, and Logan is careful that it is fully sheathed before he runs his hands over Bobby’s body, pushing away the shredded tee shirt, roaming across his exposed back.
"I would never hurt you," he whispers, and he surprises himself by the tenderness in his voice.
Logan doesn’t think he will ever forget the look on Bobby’s face at this moment. Fear melts into a shy smile, and Bobby doesn’t say anything, just wraps his hands around Logan’s neck, pulling him closer. His lips are warm as he kisses Logan once more, taking his time to run his tongue over the ridges of Logan’s teeth, and damn, Bobby can kiss.
And now he evidently can kiss and drag down the zipper of Logan’s fly at the same time. The boy’s a fast learner. Bobby’s fingers are slim and cool to the touch as they slip inside Logan’s jeans, although he feels Bobby’s hands halt in surprise when they discover he’s wearing nothing underneath. Logan smiles as his lips move away from Bobby’s mouth to kiss and nibble a trail down his jaw line.
"It’s a warm night," he murmurs against Bobby’s neck, and he hears the tingle of breathless laughter as Bobby throws his head back, exposing more of his neck to Logan’s ravishing.
Bobby’s fingers boldly brush against Logan’s cock, already fully hard by now. His touch is like an ice feather stroking along Logan’s shaft, and sends a wild jolt of arousal through him. Logan draws a sharp breath, biting down hard on the curve of Bobby’s shoulder, and he hears Bobby moan softly.
"Lie back," Logan commands in a low voice, and Bobby obeys, reclining backwards on the table.
Logan straightens to push his jeans all the way down his legs, but doesn’t step out of them. He’s never comfortable being fully naked; it makes him feel vulnerable, and brings back the memory of that white-hot pain in his bones.
And he doesn’t want to think about that, not now, not with Bobby Drake lying back on his elbows on the table in front of him, completely undressed, legs sprawled apart invitingly. Bobby’s gazing up at him, waiting, wanting, and that’s enough to banish the nightmares to another night.
Right now, he just wants to feel nothing except the moment.
Logan leans over Bobby and kisses him hard on the mouth, surprising both of them with the urgency and raw need that go unspoken. Then his lips leave Bobby’s, moving down to his chin, along his neck and over his chest. Logan runs his tongue over Bobby’s nipples, swirling in flat, hard strokes, and he feels Bobby shiver and moan. He moves lower, kissing a wet trail down Bobby’s stomach. Bobby squirms under him, and Logan’s hands pin him down so he can’t fidget.
Logan pauses for a moment, before bending forward and licking the head of Bobby’s cock.
The response is electric. Bobby gasps out loud, and his hips arch sharply off the table to meet Logan’s mouth. Logan grins, and licks again, teasingly, never really letting Bobby feel more than a flickering stroke of his tongue.
"Logan!" Bobby’s voice is anguished. "Oh please, Logan, just..."
And Logan renders Bobby unable to complete his sentence by closing his mouth entirely around Bobby’s cock.
Perhaps mutant talents manifest themselves in other ways, because for his age, Bobby definitely has a lot to be proud of. Logan swirls his tongue around Bobby’s shaft, sucking with alternately hard and slow movements, while he simultaneously makes sure he doesn’t sustain injury from Bobby’s thrashing limbs.
Bobby’s hands tightly clutch Logan’s wrists in their sweaty grasp, and he’s making whimpering noises that sound like pain or ecstasy. From the way Bobby’s bucking up in a desperate attempt to make Logan swallow him whole, Logan is inclined to believe the latter.
The boy is close to coming, and Logan pinches the base of Bobby’s cock to prevent that. Bobby’s ragged cry of protest makes Logan smile. Bobby will thank him for this later. He pulls back nonchalantly and finds Bobby, his face flushed, staring up at him in dismay.
"Logan!" There is a distinct tone of pleading in Bobby’s voice. "You can’t stop like this..."
"What did I say," Logan cuts in, his voice laced with steel, "about telling me what to do?"
Bobby subsides, paling at the dangerous tone of Logan’s voice. Logan smiles ruthlessly. Let the boy learn what it means to do as he’s told. He leans over Bobby, possessively capturing the boy’s body beneath his own.
"This is want I can do, Bobby," Logan continues in the same low, measured voice, as he spreads Bobby’s legs further, lifting them in the air. "What I will do."
His other hand slides up Bobby’s left thigh, holding it apart.
"I want you right now." Logan leans in, and presses the head of his cock to the entrance of Bobby’s body. "Just like this."
Bobby’s eyes widen slightly as he understands what Logan is saying.
"What if someone comes?" he asks breathlessly.
"Someone... else, you mean?" Logan answers succinctly, and demonstrates his point by stroking his hand deliberately over Bobby’s cock. Bobby turns red and lets out a strangled groan; Logan chuckles in amusement, then leans forward so he’s looking down at Bobby, straight into his pale blue eyes. "Don’t worry. I’ll know if anyone’s heading our way." He pauses. "Trust me?"
And Logan needs to hear Bobby say it out loud, that it’s okay like this, raw and deep, with nothing between them except the slick, wet heat of the moment.
Beneath him, Bobby closes his eyes, and his dark blond lashes are flecked with moist beads. He looks so young, and beautiful, and Logan needs to hear Bobby say he wants this as much as Logan does.
"Yes," Bobby finally whispers, and his lips form the fervent word: "Please."
And Logan needs no further invitation.
The fingers of his right hand slide along the cleft of Bobby’s ass, and when he reaches the opening he feels Bobby clench at the intimate touch. Bobby’s so tight it’s barely possible to push the tip of his finger inside.
"Hey," Logan says softly, and reaches his other hand forward to stroke the side of Bobby’s face. "Relax, okay?"
"It’s just that, uh," Bobby moistens his lips nervously, "I’ve never..."
Realization dawns. "Done this before?"
Bobby blushes, and nods. Logan stares at him with barely concealed surprise. Okay, Bobby’s a not-even-seventeen year old piece of jailbait, but surely he must have at least messed around with that sultry, equally jailbait roommate of his? Well, if not, then Pyro definitely smirks too much for someone who hasn’t even fucked Bobby Drake before.
"Is it going to hurt?" Bobby asks nervously, looking up at Logan.
"Only a little, at first," Logan answers, glancing around them. "But we need some lube..."
He sees is the tub of ice cream, sitting on the edge of the table, forsaken by its owner in favor of other more physical delights. That might just about work. He snatches it up; inside, the vanilla ice cream has melted. Perfect.
From the corner of his eye, Logan sees Bobby’s jaw drop in amazement.
"You can’t be serious," Bobby blurts out, torn between laughter and disbelief.
Logan sets the tub down and gives Bobby a deadpan look. "Believe it."
He dips a hand into the tub, and his fingers come out covered with cold, white cream. He smears a generous amount around the entrance before he pushes a finger into Bobby’s ass again — this time it slides in without much resistance. Bobby sucks in a sharp intake of breath and shudders. Logan inserts another finger, and Bobby’s body clenches around him before it responds to accommodate.
Logan adds a third, and watches Bobby intently as he begins pushing his fingers deeper in. Bobby is the perfect picture of innocence debauched: lying flat on the table, his legs spread wide, his head tilted back, a keening cry in the back of his throat as Logan’s ice cream-lubed fingers fuck him slowly, stretching him with measured strokes.
Logan has to bite his tongue to stop himself from coming even without touching himself, which would certainly be a first for him. In his fifteen years of memory, Logan can’t remember anyone ever making him this hard. How the hell did this happen? Fuck Bobby Drake. Oh, right, that’s next on the agenda.
His fingers have prepared Bobby well enough; Logan withdraws his hand, eliciting a shiver of protest and anticipation from the boy. Logan scoops another drippy handful of melted vanilla cream and smears it over his cock — the sudden cold makes his erection flag a little, but the cool, slightly sticky mixture swiftly warms against his hot skin, and Logan grows hard again as he presses his slicked cock up against Bobby’s hole.
"Ready," Logan says, and it’s not even a question. Then, more softly: "Just relax."
Bobby takes a deep breath, and when he gazes up at Logan there’s no fear in his eyes, only complete trust.
He nods.
And Logan holds nothing back.
He firmly pushes the head of his cock into Bobby. Logan hears him gasp in pain, and feels Bobby contract around him, but he doesn’t relent — he inches deeper, past the delicate ring of muscle. Bobby closes his eyes and lets out a choked sound; his body twitches, but Logan holds him down, keeping him still.
"Relax," he whispers once more, and feels Bobby yield a little more.
Logan finds his way past the initial resistance, and Bobby is so fucking tight and hot inside. Logan fights to control the depth of his penetration, slowly moving deeper, instead of slamming all the way in like he very much wants to.
Halfway in, Logan stops. He looks down at Bobby.
"Open your eyes," Logan commands softly. "I want to watch you."
Bobby’s eyes flutter open, glazed, and it takes a few moments for them to come into focus. He is panting breathlessly, his hands clenched into fists as he looks up at Logan towering above him. His body sparks with a rare heat.
"I want you to feel this." Logan shifts slightly, cock still lodged inside Bobby’s ass, and watches the raw emotion flicker across Bobby’s face. "I want you to remember this for the rest of your life."
Looking deeply into Bobby’s eyes of clear ice blue, Logan thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in a single, smooth stroke.
Bobby cries out; his entire body shudders, clenching around Logan’s cock. Logan’s strong hands pin down his thighs so he can’t move away — and as he holds himself there, completely sheathed inside Bobby’s slick heat, Logan is willing to forget the past fifteen years of his life just to remember this moment.
Then Logan begins to move, and the perfect stillness fractures in a burst of violent color and raw heat and Bobby, writhing beneath him, impaled on pleasure and pain. Bobby, his head thrown back, his sweet mouth parted in a breathless moan, begging Logan’s name over and over again.
Logan’s right hand slides between Bobby’s legs and firmly grasps the boy’s cock, hard and proud in his palm. He begins to pump with quick, fast strokes, in counterpoint to his own cock moving inside Bobby. He slowly rubs his thumb in circles over the swollen head, and Bobby lets out a strangled moan.
Logan adjusts the angle of his thrusts and hits a sweet spot deeper, right there, all the while jerking Bobby hard and swift in his fist. Bobby groans, and his fingers paw the table helplessly. His hips arch up to meet Logan’s downward strokes, but Bobby’s swiftly losing control and —
Bobby comes first, crying out Logan’s name as he spills hot seed all over Logan’s palm in quick spurts. He’s gasping, almost sobbing, and the muscles inside him clench sharply around Logan’s cock, driving him insane from the tight heat. Logan grits his teeth, he can barely keep the pace of his feverish rhythm — thrust, hard, pull back and slam forward, again, and oh, deeper, in and out and Bobby and oh fuck —
With a final thrust Logan finally lets go. A growl rips from his throat as he comes, and he shoves his cock deep into Bobby’s body, deeper than he’s ever touched, and he holds Bobby down and fills him completely with his hot liquid fire, until there is none left to give.
Logan tastes blood on his lip. He doesn’t move. Another moment of stillness, this time sweaty and breathless and satiated. Logan gazes down at Bobby — his eyes are closed, his cheeks flushed, and he looks so beautiful. His chest heaves in an erratic rise and fall, and he makes soft, panting sounds from between his parted lips.
Logan leans forward and tastes them, sliding his tongue effortlessly into Bobby’s mouth in a full, wet kiss. Bobby kisses him back, although Logan can feel that he’s exhausted. Breaking the kiss, Logan gently withdraws from Bobby.
"You all right?" he asks.
Bobby nods. There’s something cute and fetching about the way Bobby nods, and Logan is reminded of the time when Bobby crouched under the table and witnessed him executing one of Stryker’s men. If ‘all right’ then meant looking terrified and awed, ‘all right’ now means looking thoroughly ravished.
He steps away, picks Bobby’s shredded tee shirt off the floor, and starts cleaning them both. Bobby just lies there, lets Logan rub the cloth over his stomach, between his legs. But Logan can feel the weight of Bobby’s gaze on him, and he knows Bobby’s silence is one of anticipation. Waiting.
He hates this. Logan avoids meeting Bobby’s eyes, and instead busies himself pulling up his jeans and zipping them up. What does the boy want from him? Logan’s not a stayer. He always leaves first, and he has never let anyone stay the night. But Bobby would never understand.
"Logan," Bobby says quietly, pulling himself into an upright position.
He can almost hear the heartbreak in the boy’s voice. Logan finally glances up. He puts his hands on Bobby’s shoulders, and realizes that he is shivering. He pulls back slightly, and frowns. "You’re cold."
Bobby smiles, and he looks somewhat sad. "I’m always cold."
Logan rubs his palms over Bobby’s arms to create friction and heat. "You were warm just now."
Bobby holds Logan’s gaze. "That’s because you were there."
Oh fuck. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. Not because it’s Bobby’s first time, but because it’s Bobby.
Logan leans closer, and strokes Bobby’s cheek tenderly. He looks into Bobby’s eyes. "I’m here now."
"I know," Bobby says, and kisses him.
This time Logan closes his eyes, and he feels Bobby’s hands slide up to hold his face. Bobby’s lips are soft, and his tongue is like wet velvet as it flickers against Logan’s. Bobby draws him closer, and Logan lets him, and he’s lost in the taste of Bobby feeling so much alive.
Bobby pulls away from the kiss first, but doesn’t pull back. His breath is a hot caress on Logan’s cheek, and voice is small as he asks, "Are you leaving?"
"No," Logan says simply. "I’m going back to my room. But I’m not leaving." He tilts his head and looks at Bobby. "I’m not going anywhere."
And from Bobby’s expression, Logan knows that what he can’t quite put into words is present in his eyes. Bobby nods, again, this time not in fear or awe or breathlessness, but in understanding.
Logan helps Bobby off the table, and picks up his boxer shorts. Bobby looks bashful as he takes them from him. It’s amusing, almost endearing, how Bobby can still be shy with him after the way they just had sex.
"I’ll see you," Bobby says softly. And smiles.
Logan nods once. Then he grabs his beer, turns around and walks out of the kitchen.
It takes every ounce of willpower not to look back.
Logan sips his beer as he slowly walks down the hallway towards his room. The beer is lukewarm again, but that’s his own fault. He smiles to himself in the darkness, and decides that the next time he needs some ice for his beer, he’ll just call for room service.
Then maybe Bobby can stay the night.
- fin -